


You and You and Me

by Anonymous



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Paragon Lost
Genre: Akuze (Mass Effect), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mindoir (Mass Effect), Multi, Polyamory, Pre-Canon, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:28:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John, James, and Kaidan all have names on their wrists. The names of the people who have the potential to be their soulmates. All they have to do is find them.
Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/James Vega, Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard, Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard/James Vega, Male Shepard/James Vega
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7
Collections: Spectre Requisitions 2021





	You and You and Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bioticfox (ayambik)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayambik/gifts).



> Foxy said she liked soulmate AUs and suggested someone try their hand at OT3 soulmates and I figured it might as well be me. I hope you like what I came up with. Many, many thanks to GhostxofxArtemis for beta-reading and Saku for her insight into James Vega, stereotypes, culture, and bilingualism. All the mistakes are mine.

John has seven names on his wrists but only one of them matters.

 _Mateo_.

It’s second from the top on his right arm, scrawled in barely legible letters. As if he’d written it himself instead of Fate or God or Destiny or whatever power gave everyone their list of possible soulmates on their sixteenth birthday. He’s almost afraid it’s not real, that by wanting it so much he has fooled himself into believing it’s there when it isn’t. He rubs his thumb over the name, worries too late that it will smudge like ink, but it remains, the black letters sharp and clear.

::Well?::

Instead of typing an answer he switches his omni-tool to camera mode and takes a picture. He is so giddy that it genuinely surprises him when the image shows nothing but smooth skin and a few scattered freckles. In his excitement he’d forgotten that he is the only one who can see them. At least until they make their declaration. 

Balancing his omni between his shoulder and his chin, he takes another, this time pointing at Mateo’s name. He doesn’t trust himself to not to say something dumb so he just sends the picture and waits. One heartbeat. Two. He refreshes his inbox. Still nothing.

What if he’s not on Mateo’s arm?

His birthday was almost two months ago. They’d agreed not to talk about it until they both had their lists but he could have known for nearly two months that he and John weren’t meant to be together. Just playing along until John’s birthday to let him down easy.

John’s omni-tool buzzes, an incoming message, and he almost can’t summon the courage to open it. Just like he sent, a picture attachment only. He holds his breath as he opens the image. The inside of Mateo’s forearm. Mateo’s finger pointing to a blank spot right under the crease between his wrist and his palm.

John whoops, the sound of it ringing through his room, then claps a hand over his mouth for fear of waking his parents down the hall. He flops down onto his bed on his back, his arm extended above him, the picture displayed in the air next to it. Mateo’s name is on his arm. His name is on Mateo’s.

They are soulmates.

* * *

Kaidan has five names on his wrists.

Three years later, the blank spot where _Rahna_ used to be still taunts him. In his better moments he loses track of it in a rose-tinted high. In his worst, he considers crossing out the others with a razor.

Today is the latter. He hasn’t eaten in days unless you count the half bottle of flat beer he finished that morning - alcohol is technically a food, his brain supplies helpfully - and he finished the last of his sand yesterday morning in a spectacular binge that left him passed out on the floor. He woke up in a puddle of sweat, sore from shivering, desperate for another high. He had the mirror on the table and the blade in his hand before he remembered he was out. Now it’s hovering a fraction of an inch over his skin, poised to strike out the name underneath.

 _Eusticia_. 

What kind of a name is that anyway? Did she get teased about it in school? Does she love it because it reminds her of a family member who passed?

How many names has _she_ lost?

That thought makes him pause.

Would she miss him the way he misses Rahna? Has she lost a name before? How many? What if he’s her last name? Or _Mara’s_? Or _John’s_? As much as he’s hurting now, he doesn’t want to make anyone hurt the way he does, least of all someone he could potentially spend the rest of his life with. The life he’s currently in the midst of planning to end.

He drops the razor and leaves the apartment. There’s a center on River Drive, maybe a ten minute walk. When he starts to lose his nerve he glances down and repeats his five remaining names, reminding himself that there are at least five people who matter more than the one he lost.

* * *

James has five names on his wrists, one of which is written in a script he can’t read. He’s never met anyone with an alien soulmate, not that he knows of, at least. Then again he wouldn’t know until they were declared. 

Honestly, he doesn’t have a strong opinion about it one way or the other, which surprises him. He thinks it should embarrass him or thrill him or make him feel something but it doesn’t. 

What does excite him is the thought of leaving Earth. As much as he loves his home, and he does, he’s always wanted to see the world beyond the planet. He never seriously considered it though, certain his father would find a way to prevent it even before he figured out how, until a name he couldn’t read showed up on his arm. Aliens aren’t exactly unwelcome on Earth but they are exceedingly rare, and the strange, curved script seems like a promise or prophecy.

He _can_ find a way out there if he wants.

He starts looking for that way the next day while he waits for his uncle to meet him for his birthday lunch. He settles in at the picnic table by their favorite food truck and starts a search on his omni. He doesn’t have an affinity for science or technical work and the idea of homesteading bores him beyond words. He’s looking into the cost of simply moving offworld and working out the details when he gets there when his uncle interrupts him. 

“Happy birthday, Jimmy _,_ ” Emilio says, dropping a container of homemade arroz con leche with an oversized bow taped to the lid on the table in front of him. “What’ve you got there?”

He thinks about deflecting, even to his _tío_ , then he remembers the name on his wrist and tells him the truth. Emilio doesn’t scoff or even seem all that surprised. 

“Have you looked into the Alliance?” he asks.

James shakes his head. “How about after lunch?”

* * *

John has six names on his wrists, which is surprising because he was starting to think that _James_ might be Jimmy Fields. But Fields is dead, melted into a puddle of flesh and blood and thresher maw acid and he still has six names, so he must not have been.

Jimmy Fields can’t be sitting next to Mateo on the wheel of the overturned Grizzly because he still has six names on his wrists.

No, that’s wrong . . .

“Can you hear me?” he asks aloud. 

At least, he thinks it’s out loud. It’s hard to tell when his throat feels like sandpaper and his whole body aches so badly he can feel it in his teeth. Fields doesn’t look at him but Mateo does and smiles. He was the one he was talking to anyway.

“I tried,” he says, dragging himself toward the Grizzly. “I tried to find you. I looked and I looked and I tried to find you . . . ”

He’d stood in the burning streets screaming Mateo’s name, stumbled down a block or two, tore his hands up digging through rubble. By the end of the week he’d barely been able to yell or walk but he couldn’t give up. Not while Mateo’s name was still on his arm.

The memories swirl around him. The Owens’ dog running loose through the street. His own desperate sobs as he lay on the ground unable to take another step. The smell of Mindoir’s soil and smoldering prefabs and thresher acid.

That doesn’t make any sense . . .

An Alliance soldier placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, son. You’re safe now. We’re getting you out of here.”

“No! No, I’m not going! Not without him! I can’t leave him!”

He can’t leave when Mateo is still sitting there on the Grizzly. 

“Okay, soldier. Hold on. One second. Just hold on.”

Somehow, even through his current aching and burning and throbbing, he still feels the sting of a needle is his shoulder. A soothing cold follows, bringing clarity with it. He fights the call of sleep to lift his forearm. _Mateo_ is gone but _James_ remains. 

He looks back at the Grizzly. Mateo is gone and so is Jimmy Fields.

* * *

Kaidan has five names on his wrists and one of them belongs to his commanding officer.

In fairness, “John” is still one of the most common names for human men so there really isn’t a reason to think Shepard is his soulmate any more than the barista at his favorite coffee shop or the new doctor at his father’s practice or the latest bachelor on The Galaxy’s Most Eligible.

Except that his mouth goes dry when Shepard smiles at him.

Except that he can’t even look at an orange without thinking of Shepard since he mentioned they’re his favorite food.

Except that he’s started dreaming, literally dreaming, about Shepard’s eyes.

He doesn’t have a clue whether he’s on Shepard’s arm or not. The Commander is the picture of professionalism, but friendly, charming, and surprisingly easy to talk to. They spend hours and hours talking in the mess and Kaidan starts to hope until he sees Shepard laughing with Tali in engineering and his doubts begin creeping up again.

Then he wakes up in the medbay after Virmire to find Shepard sitting in the chair next to him. His head throbs with the start of a migraine, his abdomen is bandaged and mercifully numb, and one of his legs is in traction, lifted slightly above the bed.

And none of that matters because his hand is pressed between both of Shepard’s and held against the Commander’s forehead.

“Hey,” he says, his voice weaker than he’d hoped.

Shepard looks up and Kaidan’s heart sinks at his blank, emotionless expression. It takes exactly the same amount of time for him to squash down his disappointment as it does for Shepard’s face to crumble and sound somewhere between a gasp and sob to slip past his lips. He collapses forward onto Kaidan’s shoulder, still desperately gripping his hand, sobbing.

“Hey,” he repeats, gingerly reaching over to run his other hand over Shepard’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

After a moment, Shepard lifts his head and reaches over to cup Kaidan’s cheek and murmurs, “Thank God . . . ”

Kaidan has Shepard’s name on his wrist. And he’s willing to bet his name is on John’s.

* * *

James has two names on his wrists. He’s not sure when he lost the last one. Sometime since he showered this morning but he’s been too busy with inventory today to notice the exact moment it vanished. 

He wonders about them sometimes, the names that disappear and the people they belong to. What flap of a butterfly’s wings blew them away from each other? When he’s bored, which happens quite a bit in the armory, he makes up stories about what happened to them. 

_Ashley_ married her high school sweetheart and moved to some colony in the middle of nowhere to start a family.

 _Steve_ found out he was allergic to dogs. All dogs. Even hypoallergenic breeds like poodles and terriers and schnauzers and those weird hairless ones that made James briefly question whether he really loves all dogs.

 _John_ , the most recent disappearance, went to his first biotiball game, had a tragic accident, and vowed never to watch another one ever again.

“Vega!”

Milque bolts into the room, interrupting his increasingly outlandish possibilities for the “tragic accident” and knocking over a crate, sending weapon mods scattering across the floor.

“Damnit, Milque, I just finished with those!”

“Forget that,” Milque insists, grabbing his arm.

“ _Mierda, pendejo,_ ” he mutters. “Where’s the fire?” 

Milque drags him through the base to the commons where the rest of Delta squad, as well as several other squads and a handful of officers, have gathered in front of the vidscreen. Diana Allers is in the middle of an Alliance News Network emergency broadcast.

“Just hours ago, the SSV Normandy was attacked while on patrol in the Terminus Systems. While the majority of the crew escaped safely, some personnel are still unaccounted for, including the first human Spectre, Commander Shepard.” 

* * *

Kaidan has four names on his wrists. 

He tugs the coat sleeve of his dress uniform down a little further so all the names, even the ones closest to his palms, are covered. So he doesn’t have to see them because maybe if he can’t see them he won’t remember.

He won't remember glancing down at his arm, as if he could see through the ablative plates of his armor and will Shepard to stay alive by staring at his name. 

He won’t remember tearing off the bracer the moment he got the chance, rolling up the sleeve of his undersuit and hoping against hope that there would still be five names there.

But there weren’t and there aren’t now.

He checks his ribbon rack and adjusts his collar, making a point to watch his fingers, not his hands and absolutely not his wrists. _John_ is - was - on the bottom of the right side so if he doesn’t look he can pretend it’s still there.

Is pretending better or worse than remembering, he wonders, before deciding he doesn’t care. He has a memorial service to sit through and pretending is the only way he’ll be able to manage it.

He’ll have plenty of time to remember later.

* * *

John has no names on his wrists.

It makes sense, objectively. Almost all of his skin has been grafted, as well as a significant portion of his organs, muscles, and bones. But even with everything he has seen and done and experienced, he is still a romantic and some part of him had believed that soulmates and true love were stronger than death.

But they are gone. Like his scars. Like his rank. Like the last two years.

He still rubs his thumb over the place where they used to be, imagining that he can feel the letters in his skin even though he couldn’t even when they were there.

“Shepard, there you are.” 

Miranda’s voice is cool and smooth. It should be soothing but it grates on his ears. 

“I wanted to give you this.”

She hands him a slip of paper, which tells him it must be personal because all her reports and official documents come on datapads. Her handwriting is absolute chicken scratch, even worse than his, and the contradiction of that makes him laugh. Miranda Lawson, with her perfect hair, and her perfect body, and her perfect genes, has the handwriting of a drunk toddler using their non-dominant hand.

The sound cuts off immediately when he realizes what it says. Seven names written in two lines, one for each wrist.

“I thought they weren’t visible,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Not to the naked eye,” she answers. “However certain scanning systems are able to pick them up, if properly applied.”

“Thank you,” he says, though he’s only grateful for the kind intentions. He doesn’t need the list; all of the names were committed to memory and it would take more than dying for them to leave him. But seeing them here, on paper, suddenly makes him feel dead. They were part of him while he was alive. They are cold and clinical on paper, not part of him any more. They’re dead and that means he is too.

He tears the paper up after she leaves. It serves no purpose anymore.

* * *

Kaidan has four names on his wrists and none of them is _Claire_.

He finds it comforting, a release from all expectations. He doesn’t have to spend any time speculating if she’s the one. He knows that she isn’t so instead he can just get to know her without any pressure or rush. Some people would say he’s wasting his time but to him it feels like the first time he’s actually spent it wisely. 

Would things have been different with Shepard if he had just enjoyed his company instead of contemplating the likelihood and ramifications of his soulmate being his commanding officer? How many seconds, minutes, hours did he waste looking at his arm when he could have been looking at John’s face? He wants something different this time.

And Claire is different, so different than the ones he knows he lost. Sweet like Rahna but not at all timid. A thrill-seeker like Shepard but with no love for real danger. She laughs easily and often and smiles so wide he’s not sure how her face doesn’t crack in half. Sometimes he wonders if _James_ or _Summer_ have laughs like that. Most of the time he’s so enchanted by hers the thought doesn’t even cross his mind.

He finds himself less and less preoccupied with his list, often forgetting about it entirely, until a delivery man shows up on Claire’s doorstep with a package for Dr. Eusticia Burke. He blinks at him, trying to figure out how a package for his soulmate ended up at his girlfriend’s address and what the chances are that they’d have the same last name, until Claire joins him at the door.

“Thank you,” she says, reaching past him to take the box. “Do you need a signature?”

“Just here.”

She takes the datapad and he watches over her shoulder as she signs on the indicated line. Eusticia C. Burke, MD. He stares at the name, the letters burned behind his eyes even after she returns the pad to the man and the door shuts behind him.

“Kaidan?”

“Eusticia?” he blurts. 

She wrinkles her nose, curling her lip initially in disgust though it quickly turns into a smile. “You’d go by your middle name too, wouldn’t you?” 

“Guess so,” he admits, which just makes her laugh more.

She takes the package and disappears into the kitchen. He waits until she is well out of eyeshot to roll up his sleeve. He half expects to see the letters dissolving into his skin, but they’re still there and they stay for as long as he stands at the door, until he eventually realizes Claire is probably waiting for him.

The disappearance happens a few weeks later in the time it takes him to read his new orders. He’s being sent to the Terminus Systems, some planet called Horizon.

* * *

James has one name on his wrists. He had two until some seconds ago when Treeya’s disappeared. He’d just assumed she was dead. It seemed the most likely possibility given their situation. He saw her struggling against Messner, shoved into a pod, and ejected into space. Still, he can’t just abandon her if there’s even a chance she’s alive so he tries the comm. Then she answers and more than anything, he’s confused.

If she’s still alive, then why is her name gone? 

The curiosity gnaws at him, festers in the back of his mind until it explodes with understanding.

The Collector ship is going down with the colonists inside it.

Treeya is too and she has the data.

He doesn’t have time to save them both.

She has the data and he doesn’t have the time to save them both.

The first thing he feels is relief. Treeya’s name is gone, which means the decision has already been made. He will save the colonists - save April - and Treeya will die and it doesn’t matter if it’s the right choice or the best choice because it isn’t his choice.

He wants to accept that, wishes more than anything he could accept it, but he knows it’s bullshit. There is always a choice he just has to decide to make it.

He thinks about that a year later, staring at the one remaining name on his arm. _Kaidan_. It’s the name he overheard Anderson calling the major that comes by during Shepard’s visiting hours but never actually visits. He just sits in the lobby with a to-go cup from James’ favorite coffee shop. He’d been thinking about asking him if he’d like to go out sometime but now it feels like cheating.

He’s James’ last name so it wouldn’t really be Kaidan’s choice. He has to say yes, even if he doesn’t know it.

Kaidan is still there when Strickland comes to replace him but he stands up when he sees James coming down the hall on his way out.

“Hi,” he says, taking a few steps toward him. Not so much as to block his path but close enough to be unmistakably talking to James. “I, uh . . . I’m Kaidan.”

“Yeah, I know.” James realizes how that sounds once he says it and quickly explains. “I heard Anderson say it a while back.”

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” Kaidan rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight side to side. “I was wondering if you’d want to go out some time? For dinner? Or drinks? Or coffee? Whatever you like.”

“I love Daily Grind,” James says, nodding to the cup. “Have you tried their Sunday brunch?”

“No, but that sounds great. If you’d like to go?”

“Hell yeah,” he answers. 

There’s always a choice as long as he decides to make it.

* * *

Kaidan has three names on his wrists but for the first time he only wants one and it’s one he still has.

 _James_.

The man in question is lying in bed with him, curled to his chest, occasionally mumbling a mix of Spanish and English in his sleep, while Kaidan ponders the other two remaining names.

 _Summer_ and _Mara_. He doesn’t want either of them.

He doesn’t want _Rahna_ or _Claire_ either.

He traces his fingers over the place where _John_ used to be. He’ll always care for Shepard. He’d even go so far as to say he’ll always love him. But for the first time he has a future he wants more than the past and that future has to have James in it.

“James.”

His eyes open so slowly Kaidan can almost see the dream he’s leaving behind. They are dark as the night sky, bright as the stars that fill it.

“Yeah, Blue?”

“I love you. I . . . ”

His voice or expression or posture must give him away because James shakes himself fully awake and props himself up on his elbow. He runs a hand over Kaidan’s side down to rest on his hip. The weight of it against his skin makes Kaidan confident and sure. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, James. I love you and I want to love you forever.”

“Me too,” James answers, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you, Kaidan.”

* * *

James has one name on his wrists, _Kaidan_ on his right.

Kaidan also has one name, _James_ on his left. The letters touch when they hold hands, like a secret kiss. Or, more accurately, a semi-secret one because they have each declared the other their soulmate and now anyone who looks can see.

The only person James has caught looking, though, is Shepard. It started in Vancouver, became a regular occurance while Kaidan was at Huerta, and has only gotten more frequent now that the three of them are all on the Normandy. Shepard always turns away as soon as he notices James has noticed him, usually rubbing his thumb over the inside of one forearm or the other, where his names are. 

Kaidan’s eyes fill with something like regret when James mentions it, but Kaidan pulls him closer instead of pushing him away.

“We were soulmates,” Kaidan admits, then corrects himself. “We could have been.”

“He was on your arms?”

“Yeah.”

“And you were on his?”

Kaidan nods. “At least, as sure as I can be without seeing it.”

“What happened?” James isn’t sure he wants to know but he needs to.

“He died. When the Normandy went down.”

“Oh.”

They lie in silence for a while, tangled together on the couch, watching the stars outside the observation window, until a thought crosses James’ mind. 

“I had a _John_ on mine, too. It disappeared around that time.”

The idea nags at him, an interest, not an insecurity. No one who’s seen Loco can say he’s not a gorgeous man and James has had plenty of opportunity to see just how gorgeous up close. It’s not just his body, though. He’s fearless, and kind, and surprisingly normal when he lets down the Savior of the Galaxy persona. He makes James’ heart race whenever they’re together and not just because they’re usually fighting for their lives.

He loves Kaidan. He chose Kaidan and he wouldn’t trade him for anyone, even Shepard. But if Kaidan and Shepard could have been soulmates, and Loco was his _John_ , would it be a trade? He doesn’t see why it has to be.

Neither does Kaidan.

Neither does John.

And, suddenly, even with the galaxy falling apart around them, all is right in the world.

* * *

John has no names on his wrists.

His name is not on James’ or Kaidan’s. 

They say they don’t care, and so does he, but in his heart of hearts he’s disappointed. James and Kaidan have each other. One look at James’ wrist and the world knows Kaidan is his soulmate. One look at Kaidan’s and they know James is his. His own give nothing away so the world can wonder. Are his forearms covered with names that only he can see? Did he miss his last opportunity at some unknown time and place? Maybe he chose not to accept any from his list of possible options?

Does Commander Shepard, First Human Spectre, Savior of the Galaxy, not have a soulmate?

Kaidan and James must sense it as the three of them leave the reception and head to the hotel where they’ll stay until they leave for the honeymoon in the morning. They sandwich him between them in the limousine, practically ignoring each other in favor of lavishing him with attention. Four hands roaming over his body, two pairs of lips trading his back and forth between them. They reign it back so they can check in properly but the elevator ride to their suite is filled with desperate hands and hungry mouths and quiet gasps. 

They could just as easily have been in the barracks for all the attention they give the room. Tuxedo coats thrown to the floor, ties tossed aside, dress shoes kicked away. Two voices whisper his name and he moans softly in return. As much as he’d like to have their names on his skin, he’d rather have them and blank wrists than anyone else’s name. 

“Hey . . . ” Kaidan cups his cheek, tilting his head just enough that their eyes meet. James is pressed behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answers. It’s not a lie, though it’s not exactly the truth either.

“It’s okay, Loco,” James says. He glances at Kaidan and a conspiratorial grin spreads across his face. “I know a guy. The one who did the touch up on my shoulder.”

“He said it would be an honor to ‘clarify’ your soulmate status,” Kaidan continues.

John raises an eyebrow. Tattooing wrists isn’t illegal but generally frowned upon. Most artists won’t do any kind of work there and especially not names. He should be grateful but it feels like a lie. No matter what it looks like to the outside, he will always know, and James and Kaidan will know, that they were put there by artificial means.

“If you want,” James says. “Only if you want.”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“We’ll face it in the morning,” Kaidan answers. “Together.”

“Together,” James agrees.

 _Together._ A relieved sigh slides over John’s lips.

Kaidan’s fingers work at the pearly buttons down the front of John’s shirt, then the ones at his cuffs, so James can slip it off his shoulders and down his arms. James’ hands slide beneath his undershirt as he kisses the side of John’s neck and over his shoulder as Kaidan tugs at his sleeves and gasps quietly. Kaidan pulls at the other side, then lifts both arms, displaying them to the other men.

John has two names on his wrists.


End file.
